A Letter
by talentless-art
Summary: Ireland was beginning to see the signs of a big epidemic that could endanger his people's ways of living. He decides to write a letter requesting for aid on his status. But then he decides something else...


It was evening, around 2 AM. Majority of the UK should have been tucked away in their homes. But Ireland was up and about, reviewing his current situation.

It had been a few weeks since the discovery of dying crops and it had not bothered Quinn so much until there was a point in time where the mass of crops died simultaneously. Now, at first, the rate of production was not affected, and that was a good thing. But when it began decreasing at an alarming rate, ah now this definitely was a problem. Every week, Quinn ate less and less to the point where he would eat one meal a day to save the food. It got so bad and the prices were so preposterously high, it'd be better to starve. And Quinn was just fine with starving himself, just not his people. So he got to work on investigating his land along with Ireland's status.

Traveling from Dublin to Galway to Limerick to Cork. All observations were the same. The potato crops were all dead and rotten and the fields close to these crops were in the process of dying. _A plant epidemic._ There was a disease going around the plants.

... And Quinn had no idea how to stop it. He had asked some Botanists to find more info about the disease, but there were only so many good scientists at the time...

Panic and restlessness had settled in and Quinn was beginning to feel the stomach pains. The worse part was, the pain was coming from his people. This was no ordinary problem. This was a calamity. He needed help. England. Arthur would be able to help! And... And Alfred... If he asked.

_'Ah need to avoid announcin' this as a State o' Calamity... Feck, tha's like sayin' we're no' starvin' righ' now with nothin' on our plates ev'ry night...'_

* * *

Quinn gently closed the door to his house as he stepped inside. He stole a quick glance at the fridge and sighed. '... Save ih fer tomorrow.' he thought to himself, receiving a loud growl of protest from his stomach, which he ignored as he walked into his office room. He grabbed a pen and some paper and sat down on the chair. The Irish man pondered over who he was going to write to first. Maybe Arthur, since he did live closer... And Quinn was somewhat partially kind of sure that Arthur wasn't mad about the whole war for independence thing...

... O-or Alfred... He could write to Alfred first! The kid would be more useful and provide a lot more than stiff-upper-lip-stick-in-the-mud-with-a-pair-of-eyebrows.

But when Quinn pressed his pen against the paper, he stopped and another person crossed his mind.

"... What 'bout Scotty?..." he murmured to himself, putting the pen down and running his hands through his tangled, bright orange hair. What about Scotland? What could Iain give?

Quinn picked up the pen again and began to write his thoughts down unto the paper.

_Dear Scotty,_

_How are you over there? Arthur still being an arse to you and vise-versa?  
(1)__I hope__ things are all right there. Still that annoying drunkard (4)__I__ know and (5)__love__. This... This letter doesn't have much content in it.. Because (2)__you know__ I'm no (7)__good__ with a pen and paper. And I know (3)__that__ you'd probably get bored reading a six page long letter. I just wanted to get a few messages across to (6)__you__._

_(8)__B__e thankful I took the time to write this.  
(9)__y__ou are an arse. But a lovable one.  
(10)__e__ndearing as this may sound, don't get any wrong ideas, stay safe._

_Not really expecting a reply,  
(11)__Quinn McKinley_

Now, the message was written quite clearly into the letter. Iain should get the message.

Quinn folded the letter and placed it in an envelope, stamping it shut and placing it somewhere he'd see it so that he wouldn't forget to mail it.

That message was Quinn's decision. To prove his independence. But Quinn knew all too well that he was poorer than the dirt he walked upon. He would find a way to survive. The real question was, _how long would he last?_


End file.
